The Birth of a Nordic Alliance
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: AU. Weakened by famine and sickness, the Norwegians who still opposed the establishment of a union had been dealt with swiftly in the decisive battle, slaughtered or captured by the Danes. "You are a fool. Do you even realise what you have done?"


_This… used to be a part of something much bigger (something "epic", I believe) and it has been collecting imaginary dust on my hard drive for almost a year (or possibly even longer than that), so I thought I might as well get it published (it feels like a "now or never" kind of situation)._

_Anyways, this is a one-shot which takes place in an **alternative universe**__ where magic is still around, but rare due to the advancements of Christianity. Initially, it takes place sometime during the middle of the __**1300s**__, where a plague-ridden Norway is invaded by Denmark (instead of, as happened in reality, entering a union with him and Iceland in the 1380s)._

_If you like it, feel free to tell me so. ^ ^_

_Random disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia._

**- o0o -**

Weakened by famine and sickness, the Norwegians who still opposed the establishment of a union had been dealt with swiftly in the decisive battle just outside the Norwegian capital, slaughtered like cattle in the heat of battle or taken as prisoners of war.

Standing on top of a nearby hill, the man called Denmark – who was tied to the land by that name – surveyed the battlefield, all littered with corpses from the battle which had taken place there merely hours earlier. It was late in the autumn and the Dane supposed it was rather fortunate, as the summer heat would have made the stench of the soon-to-be rotting corpses quite unbearable.

On second thought, the Dane eventually decided, raising his hand. "You may collect whatever you may find of value down there and keep it unless it is something which is rightfully mine, as long as you assemble the corpses and burn them later. Is this understood?"

A cheer resounded among the men, and many of those still fit enough and reasonably uninjured after the battle dashed forward, eager to plunder. The Dane found himself momentarily disgusted, but then he shrugged lightly, nudging the horse he was on and motioning it forward, intending to oversee the spectacle, but most of all to look.

Eventually he dismounted from the horse, opting to walk next to it instead as he surveyed the area with keen eyes. It was somewhere in the middle of the battlefield that he finally found what could be seen as the remains of the Commander of the Norwegian army as he had apparently been chopped to pieces by some really eager Dane, and merely meters away lay a very familiar young blond male, unmoving.

Letting go of the horse, which shifted and threw its head around as it was clearly uneasy with the thick smell of death which still lingered in the air and grew stronger for each passing hour, Denmark approached the fallen figure, taking note of the arrow sticking out of the young man's back. With a deep sigh he bent down, lifting the unmoving blond from the ground a bit as he used his free hand to grab hold of the arrow, winching slightly as he with a surprising amount of gentleness started to dislodge the arrow from the other's body.

It did not take long before there was a reaction, or a slight moan that Denmark barely caught, but as he continued with his task of pulling the arrow out the up until then seemingly dead person came back to life, chest rising and sinking from shallow breaths. Denmark allowed himself a slight smile, though it was a mere pale imitation of the grin he usually wore, before finally removing the arrow and discarding it onto the ground.

Eyes, which were an odd mixture of blue and violet, snapped open almost immediately, attentive and to a lesser degree also frightened. A badly battered and bleeding body nearly instantly obeyed a silent command which was more of an instinct than anything else and the young male, looking like he was in his late teens at the most, immediately put at least four meters of distance between them before he turned around with a dagger in his hand, eyes narrowed but otherwise seemingly indifferent.

Denmark nearly laughed at this sudden display of ferociousness from his Norwegian counterpart, for the youngling in front of him was indeed not so young after all as he, just like Denmark, was tied to the land on which they were currently standing, land that Denmark now was about to claim for his own by the right of conquest.

The Dane opened his mouth to say something, but even before a single word of whatever he had intended on saying had passed over his lips, Norway let out a snarl – out of pain, out of rage or both – and attacked him.

It was only his battle-honed reflexes and good instincts that saved him from having his throat cut, not that it would have killed him or anything – technically it would have killed him, though certainly he wouldn't have stayed dead for long – as he evaded the dagger, backing up, sidestepping and ducking, trying to keep away from but at the same time also get through to the Norwegian, who although wounded had been given extra strength by his sheer desperation and stubbornness not to allow himself to be taken; it was common knowledge after all, that even if one managed to conquer a country one still needed to have the person tied to the area and to the people in order to keep it.

In the distance, Denmark thought he heard the surprised shouts of Danish soldiers as they had apparently noticed what was going on and likely dashing to come to his aid, but Denmark calmly ignored them, paying full attention to the Norwegian, briefly noting the increasing pallor of the other's skin along with the blood still seeping out of the wounds, not only the one from the arrow but also from several others which had previously gone by unnoticed, and Denmark silently knew that he had to finish things quickly, and do so before either his own army took another shot at Norway or the latter decided to do something very stupid.

Increasingly hazy eyes surveyed the battlefield and the approaching Danes, closing briefly as the young blond released a shuddering breath. Eyes, less hazy than the moments before, snapped open and fingers tightened around the dagger for a moment before swiftly directing the weapon upwards and lifting the blade to rest it against his throat. The spirits which were tied to the land could not be killed by foreign armies, however if they died by their own hand then they would stay dead and their lands would become uninhabitable until the moment another spirit came around to bind the land to itself.

A sudden clank of metal impacting on other metal proved to be enough of a distraction for the Dane to dash forward, unsheathing his own sword and with a precise swipe of it he managed to swat away the dagger from the Norwegian's grip before throwing the sword aside in a careless gesture and hitting the other with a well-aimed punch in the stomach.

Eyes widened briefly before slipping closed completely as the other male, now unconscious, fell forward and was readily caught in the arms of Denmark, who then adjusted his grip slightly before standing up, holding the still body in his arms as he faced the soldiers that had made it to where he was.

Curious eyes rested on the load in the arms of their appointed leader, as the Danish king himself had already retired from the scene of battle. Some of them obviously wondered who this other man was, while others – those familiar with the legends – smiled knowingly and led forth a horse.

Not long afterwards their leader had left the battlefield on horseback, still with the mysterious prisoner of war held with surprising gentleness instead of tightly bound and slung over the front as was otherwise seen as custom, even with prisoners of higher social standing.

Those who knew, or at least suspected, who the other male was knew to retrieve the fallen dagger, recognizing it as an object of possible value to their superior, while others who had been interrupted in their endeavour to steal as much as they possibly could from the deceased before burning the bodies immediately scurried back to continue where they had left off.

**- o0o -**

Denmark brought the Norwegian immediately to his designated bedroom in the captured castle in the capital but not to – as _"tradition"_ prescribed – conquer the land in a more symbolic manner by forcing himself upon the very spirit of the land, but rather to tend to the other's wounds. It was not a sheer act of kindness or mercy on his part, or at least he did not think of it as such when he carefully placed Norway down on the bed and started cutting away the layers of clothing he was unable to get off otherwise without aggravating the other's wounds too much. Denmark sought to convince himself that it was not an act of mercy on his part, not entirely at least, as he found himself rather sickened by the thought of forcing himself upon Norway and especially so when the other was unconscious and in no condition to resist at all.

But then again, maybe it was actually the complete opposite?

That instead of being merciful to the defeated, he was instead merciful to himself in order to be able to live with himself and not have yet another burden bestowed upon him by his conscience?

Maybe it would truly be more merciful to get it all over with while Norway himself did not need to feel anything, unconscious as he was.

Then again, Denmark had always considered it a stupid tradition which had sprung from the need of a conqueror to enforce submission onto the conquered and at the same time break the other's spirit, and what more effective way to do so than to brutally rape the very spirit of a country and its people. It had been a pretty twisted idea to begin with and though certain _"spirits"_ – or _"nations"_ as they were called in some places – certainly did practice this custom to a certain degree, Denmark saw no reason to be like those supposedly _"civilised"_ savages down on the European continent and instead he settled for the more sensible thing and began dressing the other's wounds.

He would have to keep a close eye on Norway from that day onward, if nothing else then in order to make sure the other did not do anything stupid like what he had tried to do when cornered on the battlefield.

Eventually, Norway would learn to accept his fate, but until then Denmark needed to keep watch and make sure he did not hurt himself, as the Norwegian's people were now by default also Denmark's and therefore far too precious for him to lose unless absolutely necessary. Surely there would be rebellions and surely enough Norway would continue to fight him long after the treaties had been signed and life had returned to some state of normalcy for the citizens in both countries, but in the long term Denmark knew for sure that it would almost definitely be worth it.

**- o0o -**

The takeover and continued occupation of Norwegian territory went smoother than expected, although not without a certain amount of resistance, especially from those inhabiting the northern parts of the country, which was rather surprising because simple farmers and hunters and whatever else lived up there should have cared very little about a change in management so to say. Maybe it was the fact that they were now under the rule of the Danes which displeased them, or maybe the fact that they would be paying taxes to the Danes now?

The noblemen, along with whatever parts of the societal elite which had survived both the plague and the war, had as had been expected of them warmed up pretty quickly to the Danes once they had learnt that they would be allowed to keep their titles and the major part of their respective fortunes and their lands as long as they bowed down to the Danish king and allowed his tax sheriffs to drive in taxes from the rest of the meagre population which weren't as lucky as to be virtually exempt from them like the noblemen were.

Still, war cost a lot for both the winners and the losers, so Denmark failed to see why it was such a big deal for the farmers as to who they ended up paying taxes to; it was all the same in the end anyway and besides, although they had failed to realise it yet they were a part of the kingdom of Denmark and hence expected to pay taxes, so what was the problem? Danish wasn't all that hard to learn now, was it?

No, the true issue did not lie in taxes or in language but in the wicked thing called national pride, or at least a sense of identity which clearly told the lot of them that they were in fact not Danes but Norwegians, or whatever they preferred to call themselves, and as such they were clearly not all that into this whole situation with the Danes having come in and taken over their country.

Some, once again up in the north, escaped even further north, either to virtually uninhabited areas or to join with some of the wandering reindeer keepers up north, the Sami people, for reasons unknown. Others took their things and escaped and some remained where they were, stubbornly refusing to yield, while others submitted willingly.

Even so, even with all these people disappearing to the right and left and even with the plague having decimated the population and the following war having taken some more, Denmark honestly could not understand how there were suddenly so few people in Norway. Admittedly, there had never been that many in the first place but the distinct lack of people was disturbing, not only to Denmark but also to his king.

Norway himself had not been of much help either, since he was either sleeping or too incoherent to say anything, too delirious with fever to do anything other than snarl and utter words that the Dane could only assume were curses and profanities, all while the one uttering them made weak attempts at swatting away the hand attempting to check his temperature.

Besides, Denmark thought when still hazy eyes in bluish violet focused on him, even if Norway could tell where his people had gone he most likely would not as he would most likely rather see them scattered for the wind like when they had emigrated to different colonies overseas a couple of hundred years earlier than see them become subjects of the Danish crown.

Less than two weeks had passed since the decisive battle and one week had passed since Denmark had brought Norway, whose body was still burning with high fever due to the foreign invasion, home with him to Denmark. Three days had passed since Denmark for real had started pondering the mystery of Norway's missing people.

The day which followed, the key to solving the mystery appeared on the Dane's doorstep quite literally in the shape of a silver-haired youth in his early teens, who had arrived sometime during the night right under the noses of the Danes along with an armada of at least twenty ships that were blocking the capital's harbour, letting no one in and letting no one out. Violet eyes, cold but violently hot at the same time, bored themselves into his.

"Iceland," Denmark gasped out, honestly not knowing what to say. "You've grown."

Thin lips twisted into a snarl, voice frigid enough to give the Dane chills.

"Where is _Bróðir_?"

**- o0o -**

Iceland, who Denmark honestly could not say he had seen since the time he had looked like a child of about ten, had changed a lot since Norway had sent him overseas to the island up in the north which was his birthplace and even further west to places Denmark had barely heard about and never seen. Though certainly, it did not take much intellect to tell that whatever lay beyond the horizon in that direction had made Iceland into a fairly rich country, if the armada of ships blocking the harbour out there was any indication whatsoever.

Then again, there was also the fact that Iceland seemed quite ready to take drastic measures, likely involving setting fire to the Danish capital, if his demands were not met and even though Denmark himself was quite well-off both in terms of money and military resources he would rather not have the other burn his capital down if he could avoid it. Not that any protests from the Dane would have mattered anyway as Iceland simply swept past him, entering the castle-like dwelling that was Denmark's humble abode, pausing briefly before heading off in the direction of the stairs leading up to the room where Norway was kept.

Denmark had long suspected that all nations had a certain way of vaguely sensing each other's presence in some way, but as it appeared Iceland was certainly able to tell where Norway was located and immediately headed there, ignoring the Dane fully as he did so as he was apparently aware of the fact that Denmark knew better than to attempt to harm him, as Iceland's people out there on the ships would instantly know if anything happened to him and would immediately proclaim war if such a thing occurred.

Eventually they reached a locked door, but even before Denmark attempted to step forward to unlock it Iceland put his hand out towards it, laying it onto the door handle. His hand glowed for a second and then there was the sound of the locking mechanism moving. After pressing down the handle and opening the door ,Iceland sent a short but extremely cold look in Denmark's general direction before entering the room. After a brief moment of hesitation, Denmark followed him.

"You are a fool," Iceland hissed upon having exited the room in which Norway resided. "Do you even realise what you've done?"

Denmark scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable with the whole situation. "He was already in a bad way from the whole ordeal with the plague," he finally said, his voice completely lacking the cheerfulness that usually lay beneath. "I just wanted to take him in and protect him so that no one else would…"

"It doesn't matter what you intended," Iceland cut off, his voice frigid. "You invaded his lands and incorporated his people beneath your king; if he was in such a bad way before this then it's a sheer miracle that your thoughtless little invasion didn't kill him off completely and since that didn't quite do it then your continued occupation certainly will!"

"How so?" Denmark questioned. "We're treating his people well and we're even…"

"His people will be Danes, not only on paper but also in spirit in just a few generations!" Iceland interrupted again, his eyes blazing. "They'll speak Danish and they'll pay their respects to your king and they will have your culture and your everything! They will be your people then, not Norway's, and then Brother will or at least would've ceased to exist!"

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer and whatever he had planned on saying died on his lips in an instant as Iceland's words echoed in his mind. _Oh my God…_

Seeing the Dane in such a state caused the Icelander to huff indignantly. "Thankfully though, a decent amount of Norway's people arrived at my shores even before the onslaught of the plague and a whole lot arrived after the wave was over as well," he said. "Both I and my people were originally Norwegian after all so we helped them settle in our colony in Vinland, where they may remain as Norwegians in exile, so Brother will be alright for a while yet… However…"

Denmark exhaled. "What?"

"If Brother doesn't re-bond with his people after your silly little invasion severed the bond he had to them then Norway will die, permanently, along with his people and his lands, the lands you oh-so-foolishly claimed as your own," Iceland said, sounding both sarcastic and rather disgusted when he said that last part. "I have already negotiated with the natives overseas, so I have now come here to ask – no, to _demand_ – that you turn over Brother to me. That is, unless you wish for me to burn down your capital and then proceed with giving your country an all-year winter which will last for about three-hundred years…"

The corners of the Dane's mouth twitched slightly. "Is that a threat, Ice?" he asked.

"It is not a threat," Iceland said, his eyes gleaming. "It is called a persuasive argument."

Though stubborn as a mule in most situations, Denmark did yield, recognising a losing battle when he saw one. He knew that although it did certainly sting to learn about what he had almost done and that he probably would not be seeing either of his old "brothers" for a long time he still upheld his part of the bargain, which consisted of a trade.

The spirit of Norway for the safety of his capital…

Denmark watched from the doorway as Iceland, even with his rather slight build, offered his back to Norway. The other male, his slight frame harrowed by war and plague and still not fully recovered from either, climbed up onto Iceland's back with some effort, his arms lashing themselves around Iceland's neck and staying that way, trembling slightly from the strain as Iceland steadied him and carefully manipulated his limbs into position for a piggyback ride.

"_Are you okay, Brother Nor?"_ Iceland asked, reverting back to the old tongue which both he and Norway had shared once upon a time before years of separation had caused their language to split into two.

"_I'm fine, Ice,"_ came the slightly muffled reply in the same language as the other mumbled, resting his still-burning forehead against the back of Iceland's neck. _"I'm fine…"_

Denmark, who was still standing in the doorway, opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp glare from Iceland caused him to change his mind and he took a few steps backwards, leaving the doorway free for the pair to leave through.

When they passed by him, Norway suddenly raised his head slightly, still-hazy eyes staring at him intently for just a few moments before Norway once again rested his head, this time on Iceland's shoulder. Denmark found himself wondering what his face truly looked like at that moment, if he had appeared guilty or grief-stricken enough for Norway to respond in such a way. His half-formed thoughts were soon interrupted however, by a barely audible whisper. "See you later, Idiot Brother…"

**- o0o -**

Denmark knew that he would not be seeing either in a very long time, in human years at least, but even though the time that passed by was short for those like Denmark himself, the emotions involved in it made it seem so much longer than it was in reality. That being said, even if Denmark missed having his old surrogate brothers around, he still could not help bursting out into laughter when word reached him that Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, otherwise known as Spain, had apparently tagged along with some guy named Columbus or something on a sea journey sponsored by Spanish royalty with the goal of discovering a better pathway to India.

As it appeared, they had not only been blown off course, ending up further up north than anyone had intended. What they had discovered was not India, though they obviously failed to realise that initially, but when they had all swiftly been taken captive by these so called "savages" or "Indians" as Columbus and the others thought they were, imagine their surprise when the interpreter arrived. A blond-haired light-skinned person who greeted the "savages" in Norwegian, only to have them respond in the same language, before finally turning to them and addressing them in a lightly accented but fully comprehensible Spanish.

As it turned out, Columbus and his crew had not found India but rather happened upon a peninsula just below of the Norwegian sphere of influence, and the interpreter turned out to be a Norwegian trader originally from the colony of Vinland up north.

The natives living on this peninsula had apparently asked the trader what should be done about the prisoners, at which the Norwegian man had advised them to either seek out or directly summon the spirit of the land if they themselves could not come to a decision.

A religious feast had then been held and the unfortunate crews of _Santa María_, _Pinta_ and _Santa Clara_ had been tied and lined up while the shamans and other natives lit big fires and danced around them, supposedly in order to call forth some spirit to judge these strangers of the land, these trespassers who had arrived greedily seeking riches not their own.

And in the midst of drumbeats and smoke, a hooded figure had appeared, cloaked in shadows and surrounded by a greenish mist.

The trader from the north had immediately sprung forward, throwing himself to the ground as if to show utter reverence, a gesture which had been repeated although not in as much fervour by the natives all while the captured Europeans stared on, mouths agape at the whole spectacle. Then, in response to this seemingly ungodly display, someone had started praying to God and the saints to salvage them from their plight and from the demon which stood before them, only to lose his voice when the hood had been pushed back, fully revealing a pair of almost glowing eyes in bluish violet.

Antonio's eyes had widened comically at the sight and he had spoken before he had managed to catch himself. _"Noruega?"_

**- o0o -**

Antonio had been the only one who had been left alive and he had only been let off with a warning, saying that if he or his people ever dared to return they would be slaughtered in the same manner as the unfortunate crews and Columbus, who died still believing he had reached India.

Once Spain finally got back to his homeland he nearly immediately headed off to Denmark, demanding an explanation as to why the personification of Norway, whose lands were in Denmark's possession, was apparently ruling over areas on some previously unknown continent in the west.

Denmark, already having received the basic information per mail delivered from Iceland by a puffin of all things and a speaking one at that, had simply burst out laughing and slammed the door in his face. Only later had he opted to explain to the very unhappy Spaniard that he was only responsible for the Danish Norway and not for Norway as a whole and hence could not be held accountable for what the Norwegians did in places like the Icelandic Norway or in the colonies Vinland, Helluland and Markland.

Having learnt that the Norwegians had somehow, in one way or another, colonized a previously unknown continent without anyone but maybe those in northern Europe noticing was certainly a bit of a shock to Spain, though he certainly did not spread the tale of his miserable experience and utter defeat in the west any further than to his own royalty, calmly informing them that the people in the west had told them that in order to get to India one needed to head in the other direction and also that any other attempts to send ships to their lands would be equal to not seeing them return.

**- o0o -**

All in all, as the years came and went and Denmark only ever heard from Norway and Iceland in an occasional letter written in runes (it had taken him days to decipher and translate it properly the first couple of times, but as time went on he got better at it), but even so he made an effort to let the people who still saw themselves as Norwegians within his realm remain as such by persuading the king to change the laws on language and no longer restrict people from speaking that language out in public areas. He'd had to explain himself for that one though, but had been clever enough to bring out the issue that it was only beneficial for them to have people who were fluent in Norwegian, as these people would likely be able to communicate more easily with the Icelandic traders.

As such, the remnants of Norway's people in their homeland were able to keep their language and their cultural traditions, although the latter had certainly been greatly influenced by the Danes, though on the issue of nationality most of them appeared to think of themselves as Danish Norwegians rather than Danes and overall Denmark regarded that as a success.

In retrospect, Denmark had already concluded that he had simply been too swift in his attempt to take over Norway the first time around, and rather grudgingly he came to the realisation that the whole ordeal with Norway likely would not have happened if he had just taken a page out of Berwald's – Sweden's – book in terms of how to take over the lands of another spirit without the latter fading as time went by, as the Swede had apparently managed to do it with the spirit of Finland.

Take it slow.

Denmark would be sure to remember that one if he was ever graced with a similar opportunity.

**- o0o -**

Norway eventually got back from the lands beyond the sea, accompanied by Iceland, both of them having been called to Denmark's place alongside Sweden, who arrived accompanied by Finland, a blond man who looked like he was in his late teens and also appeared to be a bit on the short side, though the latter was probably due to him standing next to the tall and imposing Swede.

They were greeted, not by the Dane himself but by the personifications of two out of the three countries referred to as the Baltics – Estonia and a fidgeting Latvia – both earning looks of recognition from Finland and Sweden respectively.

After sending a discreet look in the Swede's direction and having received a slight nod in return, Finland nearly immediately started chatting animatedly in Finnish with the Estonian who - although not with the same amount of near-enthusiasm - responded in a similar language whilst Sweden approached the silently observing Norwegian and Icelander, glaring down at them both with an expression which was both stern and not at the same time. Moments later, both nations had been engulfed in what could best be described as a bear hug.

Raivis Galante – later known to the world as Latvia – who had been watching the silent exchange from a safe distance, now looked at the display with an odd expression in his eyes as his fidgeting gradually lessened until he was standing almost completely still, simply staring. _Family_, he thought, continuing to stare at the exchange, his eyes alit with a sense longing. It lasted only for a couple of moments though and was soon replaced with a sense of surprise interlinked with fear as a heavy hand landed on top of his head. He did not even have to turn around to recognize it as belonging to Denmark.

"Hi!" said man cheerfully greeted all those present in the room.

**- o0o -**

"So that's the basic idea," Denmark finished, his enthusiasm apparent in his voice. "Who's in?"

The others stared at him with differing expressions containing everything ranging from slight fear to suspicion or just deep distaste in general, the latter mostly from Sweden and Iceland, all whilst Norway's face remained unreadable.

"Your idea does raise a few interesting points," Estonia diplomatically stated after a few moments of silence. "But is it possible to execute in reality?"

"The real question is; do we even want in on this plan of yours?" Iceland snorted, folding his arms. "We all remember what happened last time you did something _'for sake of a union'_, don't we?"

Sweden nodded solemnly and the Dane looked visibly uncomfortable at that.

"Still, it is undeniable that the Idiot does raise an important issue, isn't it?"

All stared in surprise at Norway, all while said person's face remained impassive. "France, Habsburg Empire, Brandenburg-Prussia, Poland-Lithuania," he said, monotonously. "Russia, the Golden Horde… it's only a question of time before someone decides to try and conquer the north as well."

Silence.

Looks were exchanged.

"Alone, we are short of men and resources," Norway continued, deadpan. "We cannot protect our own lands if we feel like we must defend them against both each other and outsiders. If we band together, we can fortify our borders and hold our grounds against the latter… If not, then we all risk being swallowed up… one by one. It is only a question of time…"

His eyes narrowed slightly, but his overall expression did not change. "This is not an act of union…"

**- o0o -**

"… _It is an act of alliance."_

**- o0o -**


End file.
